


When two worlds collide

by ZombiePrincess



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Blood, Explicit Language, Gay, Gore, Jealous Negan (Walking Dead), M/M, Male on Male, Negan (Walking Dead) Being an Asshole, Negan (Walking Dead) Swears, Possessive Negan (Walking Dead), Sex, Smut, Violence, Virgin Sherlock, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-01-09 02:52:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombiePrincess/pseuds/ZombiePrincess
Summary: Sherlock Holmes the great consulting detective is about to come face to face with a different kind of man, one far worse than Jim Moriarty or any criminal he's come in contact with before, he's about to be introduced to a bat wielding psychopath named Negan who is from a whole different world, and soon.. the consulting detective will be introduced to it all.. will he survive?





	1. When two world's collide

221b Baker Street.. The famous black door of 221b baker street, gold lettering upon the sleek black door reading clearly the address that was famously known for belonging to Sherlock Holmes and his former partner, John Watson. Above the door a silver arched metal piece, a light bulb hanging from it. On the left side of the door a black fence going along the left side of the building, made of gray brick, to the right the red painted building of a cafe merely known as Speedy's, with a worn red arched banner with the cafe's name on it and advertising what they were. Above all that a balcony, with the same black fencing, the flats themselves made of old brown bricks. A window opened, music could be heard.

A violin can be heard through a open window, passers by pausing for but a moment to listen to the beautiful music played in the flat above a small cafe. Men and women walking along the sidewalk, cars speeding past as people go about their daily lives, rushing children off to school or rushing off to work, those living in the United Kingdom not at all knowing of the fate of those living in the United States.. 

William Sherlock Scott Homes. The famous consulting detective, pale skin, short black curly hair and his oceanic blue eye's. Those were the first four things one would take notice of when first coming across the consulting detective. His cheek bones, sharp as some would state, a few would even swear they could cut a person if touched, of course that was but a joke among a few people. Sherlock is excessively lean and six foot, if not considerably taller. He is thirty-four years of age. Well dressed, always seen wearing a black long coat with a suit underneath and a dark blue scarf, sometimes wearing a deerstalker, of which he highly hates. 

“Morning Mrs. Hudson”  


Sherlock would mumble out as his playing slowed. Martha Louise Hudson is the landlady of 221b and 221c, and lives in 221a. Her relationship with the consulting detective is often one many question, often mistaking her for his house keeper instead of his landlady, though if anything the two share a mother and son like bond, Sherlock though not one to care for most people, makes such an exception for Mrs. Hudson, the former exotic dancer and wife of a now deceased drug dealer Frank Hudson, who Sherlock helped to get executed for a double murder in the state of Florida. It is assumed that Mrs. Hudson is in her late seventies or early eighties. Her skin fair, wrinkles showing her age, her hair is a light brown color, and short. She is known for having a bad hip, but it does not seem to have a problem on her mobility in certain situations.

“Sherlock dear.. I've brought you some tea”  


Came the older woman's voice as the music stopped, the violin gently lowered and placed on a table. Sherlock Holmes, had been playing for what seemed like an hour, but Mrs. Hudson did not mind, it was always a pleasant sound to wake up to. Sherlock's violin playing, such talent for the high functioning sociopath, a man with many talents.. a man way before his time. The day just starting for Sherlock, and a day ending for another man half way across the world...

The Sanctuary.. Yellowed windows on each side, the only light coming from a few makeshift lamps spread out through the working area where most Saviors spent much of their time, sorting out items taken from other places such as other groups who were currently under their leaders thumb. Dimly lit, most of the place was gray, the old factory barely had any color in this part, the other colors one would come to see would be different shades of gray and yellow. Steel stairs led up to a balcony, where a sound now came.

A loud thud echoed off the walls of the dimly lit room, the sound, coming from a barbed wire bat hitting a metal railing could be heard loud and clear by several men and women, now looking up from their work spaces, stopping to look up and stare at their leader, the leader of the Saviors, Negan. Standing tall above them on a platform, stood their leader, wearing a somewhat worn black leather jacket, that probably had more pockets and zippers then it needed. Somewhat long and baggy brown pants that had some minor blood stains on them. A off white worn shirt underneath, and wrapped around his neck and tucked in, a dark red scarf. 

Gripped tightly in his right hand a blood stained barbed wire bat that the man had named Lucille. A name that once belonged to his former wife who he lost before the outbreak took place. Not many if any at all knew the true reason for the name of the bat and or what the bat meant to him, not truly. Many just assumed he named it to be funny and that it was merely his favorite weapon to use, but there was so much more to it then the members of The Saviors knew. 

“Who are you?!”  


Negan would yell out as he pointed out with Lucille. His group didn't hesitate to speak up in unison.  


“We are Negan!”  


Every single member all at once yelled the same word's, as they kept their eye's on their leader. A wide grin appeared, his lips curling underneath his salt and pepper colored beard as he moved Lucille back, lightly leaning it on his shoulder before he turned to disappear, allowing his members to go back to work before the night would end for them in the next hour. 

Many word's could describe the leader of the Saviors, many viewed him as a monster. A murderer, a psychopath. Those were but some of the word's to describe him. Sadistic and intelligent. Were a few his own group would use to describe the man they followed. Standing at six foot three, average built for his age which many thought to be early to mid forties, his hair mostly black only showing a bit of gray, while his beard that he grew out was more gray than black, a salt and pepper color, his eye's hazel, his skin fair, only a few wrinkles would show upon his face.

Much needed sleep, the leader certainly needed it. The man was a light sleeper, most of the members were, hell maybe everyone trying to survive this fucked up world where the undead walked the earth, were now light sleepers. Death could come to anyone at any moment, being eaten and ripped apart by one of those rotting corpses, or killed by another survivor over food or worse.. it wasn't just the undead that survivors needed to fear.. others still alive likely feared the living more then the dead.. The Saviors, and many other groups before them were the very reason to fear the living. 

Negan was making his way to his bedroom, one of the largest rooms in the old factory building, that he and The Saviors called the sanctuary. A man stepped forward, his right hand man Simon.  


“Boss”  


he would say out, as Negan stopped.  


“Me and my men came across something you may like.”  


Simon would say out as he lifted his left hand up to scratch a part of his mustache, while Negan raised a brow with curiosity of just what Simon and his group of men had found. Another group maybe? No, if it had been another group, one of their member's would have been brought to him, so this was something else.

It is often wondered just what Simon had to do to get the high rank of second in command that he proudly holds as a member of the Saviors, it had to have been something awful for him to get that close to Negan. The right hand man is known for being a bit of a loud mouth as well as a drinker. In his early to mid forties, with black, but graying hair. A mustache that some often joke about, calling it a porn-stash from the seventies that needs to be gotten rid of. Brutal, cunning and intelligent, much like Negan, as many other Saviors would state. 

Simon, one of the most trusted in the group and certainly trusted by Negan, was just as mad, just as sadistic and cruel as the leader, some thought maybe he was a bit worse at times, but of course no one would voice this in fear of death. The man was pleased with himself, that much was obvious as he grinned at his boss who was waiting for an answer. 

“While coming back from Hilltop, we had to take a detour for a fallen tree and it led us past a small airport. We decided to check it out and we found a barely used and functioning airplane. It can fit a few people and items and there's plenty of fuel, it looked like this place was stocked!”  


Now this certainly had Negan's attention. 

“Well hot damn! That gives me some fucking idea's. Tomorrow, we will head out, I want to check this place out for myself.”  


Simon would give a nod of his head.  


“Yes boss, I will get a small group of men to go with us. Also, one of the men in my group is a experienced pilot. We were discussing that on our way back”  


This seemed to please Negan, as he reached up with his free hand, scratching his beard a few seconds while in thought. 

“Do your end of the night duties, make sure everyone puts everything away, then head to bed. We're going to need to be well rested for this trip tomorrow”  


With that Negan walked past him, Simon would give one last nod of his head and walked away as Negan's free hand placed on the doorknob of his bedroom door, opening the door quickly, watching it swing open a bit as he slipped in, closing the door behind him. 

Negan's room was one of the next largest rooms in the old run down factory that himself and his group called home. Well furnished, items of all sorts around the large room. A king sized bed with thick burgundy red covers, with matching pillow cases. In front of the bed a little bit away a brown leather couch, slightly worn from use and moving, in front of that a wide glass table, that had a few empty plates on it, usually that held fruit when one of his many wives brought some. The walls were a tint of green, giving the room some color, the only other color in the room was from a large rug that was multi colored with shades of red, yellow and browns. Two stripped gray chairs sat across from the couch and table, with two almost matching pillows that looked to have been made out of an animals fur. Speaking of animals, on the slightly green wall behind the chairs was a deer head hanging up, underneath another glass table that had a silver trophy, obviously not won by Negan, just found and used as decoration, with a potted plant beside it, fake of course but looked real enough, some of it hanging over the table. Dark brown curtains covering most of the windows, and near them a small table with another trophy, this time a gold one, and larger than the silver one. Many other items were in a closet nearest his bed, clothes, a small area that he kept a few books, and of course a few other weapons, but it wasn't common for him to use anything other then Lucille.


	2. Chapter 2

His mind was filled with idea's on what they could do with a functioning plane. A trip obviously was on the mad man's mind, but a trip to where? So many places came to him, another state maybe, see if the entire United States was dealing with this outbreak.. but that is when more thoughts came to him. Maybe try another country, there it came to him.. the United Kingdom. Before the outbreak even started, him and his wife had once planned to take a trip there, but of course that never happened. 

While the thought of going there was high on his mind, the thing he was thinking of mostly was if the outbreak had spread that far, if this wasn't just here in the US. Maybe him and a handful of his men would find that out if they in fact took a trip. Lowering Lucille down to the floor, leaning against the wall beside his bedside, Negan would undress and change into a pair of black sweatpants, folding up his clothes and hanging his leather jacket up, just before laying down, still in thought. One man's night was heading into dreamland, while another was just starting his day. 

A large sitting room, complete with a fireplace and mantelpiece, on it a Persian slipper in which Sherlock often puts his tobacco in, a skull who he refers to as a friend. In this same room there is a small tea table, tea often placed there is made by either himself or usually Mrs. Hudson. A desk nearby that has his laptop on it, and close to the doorway, his bedroom. In the living room is where he questions and observes and does his deductions of those who come seeking his help, they are seated in a chair nearest a long couch. The wall nearest the couch is white with black flowers, a yellow painted smiley face with bullet holes made by Sherlock himself once when he was bored, clearly seen. Nearest the fireplace, the wall is a dark red wallpaper, almost matching the rug that covers much of the wooden floor.

“Next! I don't have time for such nonsense!”  


The consulting detective would say to a couple who had come to him with a missing pet. Closing the door on them as they plead for his help. Of course the man was picky on the cases he would take on. He needed something that would be a challenge, something that would give him a high like feeling. If it wasn't something to his interest he would let the Scotland Yard deal with it, he was sure Greg Lestrade could handle such nonsense, such easy cases.

Sherlock sat comfortably in his chair, his hands raised up, palms touching as he lifted them up to gently place them on his chin. His blue eye's stopping on his former partners old chair, Dr. John Watson, a man he had been roommates with for quite some time, the very thought of him, the thoughts of them and what they had been through, it still seemed to cause some affect to the man. He missed him, his only true friend, the only one who would deal with him, even though he was likely the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious asshole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet.

The very thought of the man in his mind, his memories of the two, he could almost see him there and now. A former military doctor, and roommate and blogger. Often one to judge Sherlock for his lack of care for the solar system, which Holmes considers to be not important, among other things. Watson a now single father of a daughter name Rosemary Watson. Skilled in writing and in close quarters like combat. Very organized and well mannered. Brown but now mostly graying short hair, around his mid thirties much like Sherlock, but with the war and much stress, causing his hair to gray quicker, makes him look much older, causing many to ponder on what his age might truly be. About average height with being five foot six, with a slender frame.

A flashback, images of a past event now came to him as clear as day. A loud sound echoed throughout the flat, the sound of rushing feet coming into the room, John Watson with a look of worry on his face as he spoke up.  


“What the hell are you doing?”  


Sherlock not at all caring of John's expression as he replied.  


“Bored!”  


Watson blinked in confusion.  


“What?”  


Holmes would lift his pistol, firing at the wall as he yelled out.  


“Bored! Bored! Bored! Not much got in to the criminal classes. Good job. I'm not one of them”  


John giving a slight roll of his eye's.  


“So you take it out on the wall.”  


Sherlock seeming to be slightly amused as he lowered the gun, his hand slight outstretched for John to take the pistol, as he turned towards the wall.  


“Ah, the wall had it coming.”  


Sherlock mumbled out before flopping lazily onto the couch. 

Sherlock's attention upon the wall to the left of him, the bullet holes quite visible, as he played back the memory in his head. He seemed to keep quite a few memories of him and John in his mind palace, or maybe even hard drive, as he has called it, where he keeps important information or memories. Why this one was there, maybe it mattered most to him because of how much John had mattered to him before their departure from one another, both now living separate lives. 

The detectives attention seemed to wander from the wall and the visible bullet holes, to the kitchen. The kitchen, which is connected to the sitting room, holds a large dinning table which is usually covered with various scientific instruments from St. Bartholomew's hospital, which Sherlock uses to conduct experiments, as well as quite the impressive assortment of laboratory glassware a microscope, as well as a microwave on a counter, which at one point contained a glass full of human eyes.

Holmes mind filled with that memory once more, yet this time he could see more of it, more of an amusing part really, well maybe to him it may have been found amusing. John, walking into the kitchen as he mentioned the fact that he was starving as he walked over to the silver fridge, his hand gripping the door handle, opening it up, his eye's stopping to see there staring right back at him, a head. Shocked and perhaps a bit appalled by what he was seeing, he closed the fridge, leaning on it slightly as his hand continued to grip the handle. 

John shook his head slightly.  


“Severed head..”  


He muttered to himself before speaking aloud to Sherlock.  


“Is that a head?”  


Watson asked, of course it was a stupid question, yes that was a head he saw in the fridge. Sherlock not at all seeming to be paying much attention, obviously as he muttered out.  


“Just tea for me, thanks.”  


John still getting used to living with the consulting detective, would groan slightly as he spoke again.  


“No, there's a head.. in the fridge.”  


He spoke out. Sherlock finally taking the time to listen to John, would merely speak one word.  


“Yes”  


Sherlock would say out as he remained on the couch.  


“A bloody head!”  


John said louder, he couldn't believe of all things that Sherlock could put in a fridge, he decided a head would be one of those.  


“Well where else was I supposed to put it? You don't mind do you? Got it from Bart's morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death”  


Holmes would respond. That very moment between the two of him, it seemed to actually make a smile slightly form on his lips, as they curled. The images now ceasing as he leaned back lazily in the chair.

“Sherlock what are you doing?”  


The familiar voice of the landlady Mrs. Hudson, catching the attention of the consulting detective.  


“You barely go out anymore, Mycroft is worried about you”  


The mention of his older brother would not get the best of responses of course.  


“My brother can piss off. If he needs to worry about anything it should be of himself. I'm not a bloody child”  


Many would certainly disagree with that, Sherlock had his moments where one could swear he was a overgrown child. While others labeled him a psychopath, of course he wasn't that, no, he was a sociopath, there was a difference but no one cared to learn that. 

Mrs. Hudson wandered into the small kitchen, moving a few things off of the dirty counter that Sherlock seemed to never clean. Clean, something the flat certainly wasn't. Dust everywhere.. but that was how the man liked it, if something was touched or moved he would know and he would make a fuss out of the smallest thing if a item of his was not where he had left it, the land lady knew this well enough, she had moved his favorite skull from the fireplace and she had made sure to not do that again, at least without telling Sherlock first. 

Her attention on moving just some dirty dishes, as she placed a green bag on the counter, full of a few items for her tenant, of course many swore she was more like his house keeper, since she was always trying to clean up after him or keep things neat, but she often reminded Holmes that it wasn't the case.  


“Well maybe a nice murder will come along and cheer you up”  


Hudson would say out as Sherlock stood up, pacing slightly.  


“It has been too long since I've had a case that was more than a level seven! All these people bothering me with missing pets or items, or the simplest of things that the Scotland yard can solve!”  


Sherlock said out in annoyance as he stopped, looking out the window, taking notice of how the day had become a tad darker as clouds rolled in. Likely to rain, and soon, Sherlock imagined. 

“Another dull day”  


Sherlock mumbled to himself as his eye's remained on the world outside his flat. Blue eye's going from person to person, judging each one of them as they passed by, his ways of observing, his ways of reading people, simple deduction.. yet it seemed to stop when one familiar face came into view... Mycroft Holmes. Of course since he hadn't answered any of his brother's calls, he would come here to check on him in person. 

Mycroft Holmes, the older brother of Sherlock, as he often reminds him, and being seven year's his senior as well as the smarter brother. The eldest Holmes works for the British government, but in Sherlock's own word's he is the government, and usually discussed is the diet his brother is on, often mentioning how it is not seeming to show. Mycroft is often known for spying on his brother, keeping an eye on him, though the two get along he does use his powers to keep his brother Sherlock safe. Mycroft is quite stout, almost what one would call a tad overweight, which he likely was even in his younger year's, but only when he got older did he consider going on a diet. His cheeks slightly full, his hands broad, fat, like the flipper of a seal as once described. Mycroft being seven year's older than Sherlock, is at the age of forty one. 

Dressed in a suit as per usual, his umbrella in hand, he went nowhere without it. He was the last person he wanted to deal with today, maybe he could slip out just before Mycroft got to the door, sneak out and get some fresh air. Mrs. Hudson did mention that it had been awhile since he had been out, maybe now was the right time to do that, get out. 

It was a bit late for him to actually go along with those actions as he heard Mycroft making his way towards him.  


“Been avoiding me, brother mine”  


The all too familiar voice of Mycroft reaching his ears. His attention would not cease from where he stared.  


“Mycroft..”  


Sherlock would merely utter out, his older brother was smart enough to know when he was not welcomed, but never did that stop him from keeping a close eye on his younger more naive brother.. or sometimes having him followed. Usually using his job as part of the government to do such things. 

“Ignoring my calls, ignoring mummy and daddy, really Sherlock? For what reason? Still upset that John left?”  


That got Sherlock's attention, as he whirled around to face his brother.  


“I am not upset that John left! That's absurd. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one between the two of us.”  


Sherlock would speak out, while his older brother let a slight cheeky grin appear upon his face.  


“I am and will always be the smarter one, brother mine. But I have not come to speak of your former roommate. I have a case for you, since you won't take anything else that has come your way” 

The older Holmes would pause for a moment before placing a folder on the table nearest Sherlock, on the top read the word classified.  


“Must be all dull work”  


Mycroft finally spoke up.  


“Obviously”  


All Sherlock would say as his attention, his gaze on the thick folder on the table.  


“I would stay longer and go through this with you but I have other matters to attend to, when you're finished reading this, contact me. Note, this is of high importance, do hurry”  


Sherlock spoke not a word to his brother as he watched him leave. Mrs. Hudson had remained quiet the entire time the two had been talking, well mostly when the older Holmes had been talking. Just what was this case his older brother had brought him?

“I will leave you to that Sherlock, maybe this case your brother gave you will get you out of this flat, I do hate seeing you like this dear”  


Mrs. Hudson would say out before giving the consulting detective a soft smile, as she headed out the door and to Speedy's cafe, leaving Sherlock to look over the ever so important case his brother had left him. Mycroft seemed to only trust him with it, which was not all that shocking. But.. just what was it? Well there was only one way to find out.. 

On the table, Mycroft Holmes had left a brown folder with the word Classified written in black marker. It was full of different colored papers sticking out, papers of different colors, of tan an, blue and pink color. Tan were of missing people, blue were of the missing planes and pink were of high ranking members of the British government or of high paying jobs that had gone missing.

Clearing his mind, Sherlock's attention completely on the folder before him, his left hand lowered down, his fingers brushing over the word classified before he would open it. There inside were a mountain of papers, just by skimming over some of them he noticed they were of missing people, several. Flights never returning from trips to the United States. The dates, they weren't just days ago or months ago even, no these were a year, almost two maybe. 

This wasn't just a normal single missing person case, no this was a few hundred people missing. No word from any of them, and that was just the start of this folder. Contact with the United States, it had been as if the USA had dropped off the face of the Earth. No contact from their president or any in office officials. What was going on? This seemed to puzzle Sherlock as he looked over each paper carefully. 

Mycroft seemed to have been keeping a lot of this quiet, and for quite some time, but only for so long can things remain a secret. Something was going on, something big.. the last few papers there he read of a plane of their own being sent in, a team to investigate what happened and they had been told to report in on anything they saw, that had been a year ago, there had been no communication what so ever, either the team never made it or they did but something went horribly wrong. It was now being brought to Sherlock Holmes to piece together and solve. But could even the world's smartest detective figure out just what was happening all the way across the pond?


	3. Across the pond

The start of the outbreak, not something so easily forgotten.. how it all happened, it was like something out of a horror movie or a book or something you thought could only be dreamed up in one messed up nightmare, but this.. was no movie, no book.. a nightmare it certainly was, but not one you had when you were sleeping. This one was real, far too real for those in the United States. 

The sounds started out of nowhere, scratching, groaning.. breaking glass, followed by screaming. Neighbors, friends, families being awoken by strange noises, others appearing in their homes and the next thing, the sounds of innocent people screaming until their last breath, as their throats were ripped into by teeth, hands pulling their bodies apart, flesh torn from their bodies, suffering in agony before death took them. 

Only to watch helplessly as they were eaten alive by people they knew, and not knowing at all what was going on, left with no defenses, no answers only pain, suffering and then death, if lucky.. many would be left to turn into walking undead creature, which would later be called a walker, or zombie, or many other terms those around the states would call them.. no longer friend or family any longer, no longer human. No one knew why it happened or how. Many have speculated it was a freak experiment in a lab or maybe some sort of radiation leak, anything could have been the cause. The government never gave an answer, there had been military camps for awhile, but eventually those were overrun, not even well trained men could stop this.. whatever this was. 

The smell of death, of a rotting corpse.. that smell alone was enough to make someone sick to their stomach. It was not a smell a normal person would want to be around, but with this outbreak that smell had spread all over, those things were everywhere.. roaming around, triggered by a loud sound, and if a living person caused it and couldn't defend themselves, they would suffer a horrible fate. 

The fate of those sent to investigate why communication had ceased by the United States government, and why so many had gone missing, the sound of their plane landing had been enough to cause a large horde of walkers to come their way. Unaware of what was coming towards them, the men and women of the group made their way towards them, soon realizing something about these people wasn't right, only it was too late for some of them to fight back, being bitten and ripped apart by the undead, while others began shooting, but their fate would soon lead to the same as their fellow fighters, death either taking them from this world or they were doomed to become one of those things. 

It didn't look good for those living in the USA, it almost seemed as if there were no living left, it seemed as if the only thing left were those mindless zombies, killing those who had remained. That was not the case though, people were still alive and fighting, forming groups to survive, befriending people along the way, collecting anything of any use, weapons, ammo, food, scavenging anything they could, while trying to defend themselves against the undead who seemed to be lurking around every corner, in every building, just waiting to attack. 

Many groups were formed during this time. Some good, trying to help other survive while there were other groups who were only looking out for themselves and using others to get what they wanted and needed to keep themselves alive, not caring of the others fates in the process. These groups, the ones who fought to help others, the group of Alexandria who was led by a man named Rick Grimes. The Hilltop Colony, a group led by a man named Gregory. The Kingdom led by a man calling himself King Ezekiel, alongside his pet tiger Shiva. Those three groups formed to try and live a somewhat decent life while the undead roamed freely. 

There were many groups along the way that while at first seemed to offer the same, were far from friendly and helpful. Such was the case with the group formed in Woodbury, led by a man called The Governor. The group of Terminus, led by a man named Gareth. A questionable group that has been called Oceanside, full of all women in hiding, led by Natania has yet to prove if their group is good or bad, for now that had yet to be shown. 

Of all the groups mentioned, of all that have been formed. Only one group has made a real name for itself and stricken fear into those who fight to survive, that group is The Saviors. A group led by a bat wielding psychopath named Negan.. a man who has Alexandria, Hilltop and The Kingdom under his thumb, collecting for his group. But a rebellion, a war is about to start.. who will be the last group standing? Will the war wipe out everyone, only for the undead to survive? Will Sherlock be able to figure this out before it's too late and possibly save those innocent from a fate worse than death?

Mycroft had been waiting for a important call from the younger Holmes, he seemed to dozed off once he had returned to his office. In the eldest Holmes new office, the furniture is now more modern, traditional dark wood and standard for those of a government job such as Mycroft's Unlike what he used to have in his old office, which he likely choose for himself back then. Unlike before the chairs seem to be larger, while the office itself looks to be a tad smaller then his old one. The chairs look to be more comfortable and fit a more modern setting. On his desk is a lamp, it is a Christen Dell Bauhaus design that likely dates from the 1950's. The fan on the other side of the desk is likely from the same decade, it beams a striking resemblance to a vintage Pifco fan. Also on the desk is a large glass globe, which shows both beauty and considerably the power and influence wielded by its owner. Another item on the Holmes desk is a red telephone, likely to suggest that it is Mycroft's emergency phone. On the wall, just behind the fan, Mycroft often hangs up his umbrella. On the very same wall, which is a gray color, in a black frame, from 1956, a portrait of Queen Elizabeth II by Pietro Annigoni. 

A loud sound causing the eldest Holmes brother, Mycroft to jump slightly in his seat. He had dozed off just a tad at his desk when his phone rang. His left hand grasping the handle of the phone as he lifted it up and to his ear.  


“Brother mine, I take it you have finished reading all of the papers given to you?”  


The eldest Holmes would speak into the phone as he held it firmly in his hand, Sherlock at first remained silent on the other end as he kept his attention on the papers in front of him, some pinned up as he studied them, looking for clues.. anything to explain any of this, that his brother Mycroft had missed, but no clues.. nothing was there to even suggest what caused any of this. People didn't just vanish, and dropping contact a whole other country would never do such a thing. It was all wrong.  
“When was the last attempt to contact anyone in the United States?”  


Sherlock finally asked, his phone on the table in front of him, his brother on speaker as he scanned the papers before him. That was one thing not stated on any papers, so it was a question that made sense to ask of his elder brother. Mycroft cleared his throat as he spoke.  


“Last week another attempt was made, not a word, no contact of any kind. Strange enough case for you Sherlock?”  


Questioned the eldest Holmes brother as he looked to a clock upon his wall, checking the time, it was getting quite late. 

“This many people don't just go missing, vanish.. no contact? What sense does this make?! It makes no bloody sense!”  


This case was certainly up his alley, he would get the high like feeling he needed, that drugs would have formally done, and a challenge this would be indeed for the great consulting detective.  


“That group you sent in, they were well trained, yet they too disappeared? Or maybe never made it to their destination? Have you thought of sending in a second team?”  


Of course Sherlock would question his brother, who always claimed to be the better of the two, the smarter, which he had claimed hours ago when they had last seen each other. 

“A second team was flown out, a smaller group but better armed, this is why I wanted you to contact me after, I hadn't had time to get these newest files to you, that last team sent back a response over the radio as they landed, it was recorded.. it was horrid. Screaming, cries of agony, gun fire, and..”  


Mycroft, paused he seemed to be unable to say another word. 

“And what Mycroft?! If you want me to solve this you have to bloody tell me! Out with it!”  


Sherlock yelled out, causing his brother to pull the phone away from his ear for a moment before he'd speak.  


“Undead! Zombies! Walking dead!”  


Mycroft finally spoke, he didn't seem to want to believe what he had heard, but it had been said and several times. 

“Walking cadavers?! Are you bloody mad?!”  


Sherlock swore this was all some sort of joke now, a well put joke on him by his eldest brother. Mycroft, shook his head as he held the phone near his ear still as he spoke.  


“This is why it was kept a secret for as long as it was! I didn't believe it. The dead walking around.. but there is proof, not just the recording, pictures.. before everything just stopped on their end. The recording, the pictures I will give them to you once I leave here.. should be within the hour”


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock had just about spoken but the sound of his brother hanging up, caused him to shake his head, as he brought his hands up, palms touching against one another as his fingers gently touched against his chin and lips, now sitting in thought. Never once did this man think the dead walking the Earth was possible. Yet.. it was happening, but why? How? Who had done this? How could this be stopped? How many had died already? Were there any survivors? So many questions filled the man's head as he tried to think of his own answers, none of which would come.

Sherlock had spent the next hour looking over each paper, putting them in piles of missing person on how long they had been missing and the flights that had gone out, organized this man certainly was when it came to his work. One thing he could piece together is it seemed this unbelievable event seemed to take place about a year and a half ago, at least that was his best guess and it seemed to start slowly, because of how long it took for so many to go missing. 

The use of the internet, Sherlock thought that by looking up activity in the United States, he would get answers but nothing out of the normal seemed to pop up in news articles, that would cause this, no mention of the undead, but there were mentions of body parts found all over the world, people ripped into, missing limbs, teeth marks that seemed human and so many missing people, and then.. nothing. Everything just stopped, all around the time communication with the rest of the world had.  


The sound of footsteps would catch the attention of the younger Holmes, the familiar sound of a umbrella being used as a slight cane, it was a sound that Sherlock knew quite well, his brother had arrived and even before he knocked, the younger brother would grip the doorknob opening the door, there his oceanic blue eye's would land on a tired and worrisome looking Mycroft, and in his right hand a briefcase. 

Silence between the two as they stared back at one another, it seemed this whole situation had the two at a loss for word's at this point in time. Mycroft finally to clear his throat, his hand holding his umbrella waving forward to gesture for Sherlock to move aside to allow him in, in which case the younger Holmes would do so as he stepped back and to the side, allowing his brother to enter the flat. Once Mycroft entered, Sherlock would close the door quickly yet silently as to not alarm Mrs. Hudson who was now likely sleeping by this point, as it had gotten quite late.  


“Don't make so much noise, I'd rather not have you wake up Mrs. Hudson”  


Sherlock whispered as he could hear the heavy footsteps of Mycroft as he made his way into the sitting room where he would plop himself down in a chair, which had been somewhat loud. 

Mycroft's peculiarly light, watery gray eye's studied the shape of the flat, much had been moved around and or put up since his last visit some hours ago, papers pinned to the wall, scattered all over the desk, hand written notes that Sherlock had put up while trying to solve this, so many little notes that seemed to slightly impress the eldest Holmes brother, but only to a small extent, since they weren't really any closer to solving this, whatever.. this was. 

Sherlock's attention stayed focused on the briefcase that his eldest brother had brought with him, walking past his brother and towards his desk, his hands would grab his laptop, bringing it with him to his favorite chair. On his lap the laptop would go as he gently sat himself down.  


“Do you have this footage on a disk or USB?”  


The younger Holmes would question, as Mycroft lifted the briefcase up and placing it on his lap, opening it up, opening it would reveal the contents inside for Sherlock to see. A small black briefcase, the entire thing seemed to be leather. A dark green USB was the only thing to be inside, kept down by what appeared to be a small pieces of velcro, that would keep the small item in place. 

Mycroft's pudgy fingers would gently pull the velcro off, before grasping the USB from the spot it had been placed in since the eldest Holmes had last viewed it for himself. His left hand lifted up and his arm extended for Sherlock to reach fourth to take the item. Snatching it quickly from his brother's fat fingers, before placing it in the USB port on his laptop. 

Of course before Sherlock would open the files located on this, he would close a few tabs, one of his own website which was called the science of deduction. He hadn't updated the page in quite some time, that much was obvious as the last post was over six months ago. His last post was of a mysterious person sending him strange coded messages, the last one he never did finish. It showed John's departure had an affect on him. The second page he would reconsider closing, only to minimize, that being John Watson's blog, which also was no longer updated, not since August for his wedding, that had been some time ago now. So many memories, but he had more pressing matters now, other things more important that he would need to focus on and not the past. 

Silence between the two Holmes brother's in the few moments it took him to close or minimize the pages he had still open on his laptop, before he would open the folder on the USB.. the first images he would see coming on screen were a tad blurred but it was still easy enough to see human beings with torn flesh, missing body parts lunging to attack and attacking those who had been sent to investigate. The picture's that he would click on next would only get more gruesome, repulsive.. horrifying. 

It would be the video he now clicked on, the cries, the screams and catching a glimpse of a man being ripped apart that would get the younger Holmes to gasp. Mycroft had seen it already and just hearing it was enough to cause him to feel sick to his stomach. Sherlock had seen a lot of disturbing things in his line of work but this.. he seemed to have no word's to what he was seeing. As the video came to an end Sherlock would close his laptop, remaining quiet as he sat there. 

Was Mycroft asking too much of his brother by solving this? Could this be solved? It seemed both of the Holmes brother's at this point were thinking that same thought as they made eye contact with one another while remaining silent for a few more minutes before Mycroft spoke up.  


“I still can't wrap my mind around that..”  


His brother's word's seemed to not get even the slightest reaction. Sherlock's hand's placed flat on the laptop as he remained quiet, thinking.. focusing on just what all of this could mean. His attention would only change when he noticed the time, it was two in the morning.  


“Mycroft, go home. There is nothing else we can do at this time.” 

The eldest Holmes would have argued but he knew it wouldn't be any use at this point, instead would stand up before turning to leave. 

If the time of day mattered anymore back in the United States, and if anyone could actually keep up with that these days, it would be close to seven in the morning as the sun started to show through the dark curtains of Negan's room. A knock, it hadn't been that loud but it had been enough to cause Negan to sit up quickly. His hazel orbs locked onto his door as it opened slowly, Simon's head peaking in as he spoke up.  


“Morning boss, I have a group ready to head out soon. Your wife Amber will be in shortly with breakfast” 

Negan would merely give a nod of his head, showing that he acknowledged what his right hand man had said just before closing the door slowly as he walked away. The man was known for having a handful of wives, many of whom were only with him to survive in this world easier. They were treated better than most, but even so it wasn't right. The women, many of them were unhappy with their situation and while some didn't show it, there were a few who would, some by drinking and others.. well by sleeping with other men in the group, who would eventually be found and killed by Negan himself.. one man had a hot iron put to one half of his face, he wasn't expected to live through it like one of Negan's top men did, Dwight. 

Dwight was to an extent.. loyal. But only because of his ex wife Sherry, who had become one of Negan's wives to save her own foolish husbands life. She was one of the few who voiced out that she wasn't happy, but she never did anything stupid enough to get herself hurt or worse, killed, no.. she knew better and so did Dwight, who was doing everything to stay alive, even if that meant following a man like Negan around just to survive. 

Negan seemed to have been distracted by thoughts after Simon had mentioned one of his wives just moments ago, his thoughts of the ones he had left and the thought of Dwight and Sherry when they had come back and how close he had almost been to killing the blonde haired man, but instead had just burnt half of his face, that was one gruesome sight right there, that man's face. The thought of it made him shake his head in disgust. 

Another knock snapped him back into reality as Amber entered the room. The young twenty year old blonde had become one of Negan's wives after joining the Saviors, she had accepted his request after she realized she needed help taking care of her mother who she had also joined with, as well as her ex-boyfriend Mark, who had been the second man to have his face burnt by a hot iron. 

In the blondes arms she held a plate of food, fresh eggs, slices of tomato, some slices of cantaloupe, as well as a glass of water. Her pace towards him was slow, but even with some room away from him, the smell of alcohol was strong coming from her. She had either been drinking all night or had started already this early. Negan was quick to realize this, turning his face as she places the plate on the glass table.  


“Damn! Drinking this fucking early?!”  


Annoyance could be heard in his tone as Amber stepped back from the table, stumbling slightly. 

“I... I'm sorry.. I was entertaining Eugene like you asked and we all ended up drinking..”  


Amber responded with. It wasn't entirely a lie, herself and some of his other wives had in fact been hanging out with the so called scientist, merely watching him play some sort of video game, she merely sat back and drank. Upon hearing this, Negan waved her out, as a groan escaped through gritted teeth. She was quick to turn and rush out, not saying another word as Negan started to get out of bed, pulling a short from a drawer and pulling it on as he stumbled towards the couch. With a yawn, he would quickly plop himself on the leather couch as his hands rubbed the sleep from his eye's. Hazel orbs studying the plate of food before him, a silver fork to the right of the plate and a glass of water to the left. While he was well aware that death could happen from even those close to him, he would still risk it to eat.  


Lucky for him his wives hadn't poisoned his food, but then again they knew better. While it had been discussed at some point to do such a thing, it had never gone past talking, they were too afraid of what could happen if their plan never worked and they were found out. Fear, it was something everyone had in common as a member of the Saviors, Negan knew how to strike fear into people. 

An empty plate would be left behind on the glass table as Negan dressed himself, wearing some of the same clothes that he had worn just yesterday, they still smelled fairly better than some of his others currently, only change would be in his underwear which would be less worn, and his shirt which would be gray instead of white. Exiting his room, and passing by Eugene's, sounds could be heard, the man was likely playing one of his game's again. 

Lucille lifted up from Negan's shoulder only to be tapped on the door a few times. The sounds of the game stopped, sounds of Eugene shuffling his feet as he got up could be heard before he opened the door.“Sir?”  


The man asked as Negan's attention went to his poor excuse for a hairstyle.. a mullet, of all things.  


“Morning Mr. smarty pants. Have fun with my wives last night?”  


Negan would ask, he was curious if what Amber had told him had been true or not.  


“Yes sir, I showed them a few video games. Amber didn't seem all that entertained, she mostly drank and stayed silent.”  


Eugene was being honest, the others had seemed to be entertained from some of the event's that night. Upon hearing this Negan would give a nod.  


“Glad to hear it, as you were”  


Negan got the information he needed and though he was not pleased of Amber's drinking, he would let it slide for the time being, he had other things to deal with, and not a alcoholic wife.  


Indeed he had better things to deal with today. His mood lifted at the thought of a fully functioning plane and what they could do with such a thing. Oh the idea's that filled his head, just like last night. Passing by many of his members without speaking a word while they would kneel as he passed, his attention one one person who was just off in the distance, Simon. He really had a group all packed up and ready to head out. A vehicle too.  


“So where's this experienced pilot you talked about?”  


Negan finally asked as he neared Simon.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will all have to wait until the next few pages are written up to see just what happens next!


	5. Chapter 5

Simon grinned as he heard the question. His left arm lifted up and his index finger pointed to a average sized man with dark curly hair. He looked to be in his late thirties and by looking at him his outfit showed a few sowed on patches. A brow raised by Negan as he studied them, by the look of them he was likely in the airforce. Negan's attention went from him back to Simon as he spoke.

“His name's Derek, he used to be in the airforce, he was a top student back when he went to the air force test pilot school back in California, so he told me. Says he can fly this with no problem boss” 

Simon seemed to believe the man as he spoke of him. He made what he said short and sweet, Negan didn't need to know the man's life story or anything like that. Negan would give a nod as he looked from one man to the other. He seemed happy with what he heard as he held Lucille firmly and kept her over his shoulder. 

“Well let's get the fuck going already. I want to see this fucking plane!” 

Simon would give a nod before whistling loudly, his men quick to respond and ready to go. Negan was quick to hop in the passenger side seat as Simon got in the driver side. The gates opened after Negan gave a wave of his hand. The drive seemed shorter than expected. Already they had pulled up to the small looking airport, and there untouched, a plane. Negan's face lite right up, a wide grin appearing.

“Well will you fucking look at that! Looks barely fucking used. Damn. I wonder how well this baby flies!” 

Negan would let out as the van came to a stop and the men hopped out one by one. Simon and Negan walking towards the plane along with the experienced pilot, Derek, who had been part of Simon's group for a couple of years. 

“Well Mr. Pilot why don't you tell me something about this plane” 

Negan would say as he turned his attention to Derek who seemed to be admiring the plane from afar. He seemed to know exactly what he was looking at and as soon as Negan asked the question, certainly had no problem explaining just what they were looking at. 

“Sir.. Boss, this is a Cessna 208 Caravan. It can seat nine passengers but fourteen if you modify it for that, it is mostly used for transporting cargo from what I remember. If I can say, sir.. this plane looks like it had been fixed and repainted just prior to the outbreak and wasn't used since. It looks to be in almost brand new condition now, it may be good to test fly it first before we take it fully out though, sir” 

A brow raised as Negan looked from the experienced pilot to the plane. Seemed the man knew quite a bit or he was just talking out his ass to impress Negan, but it was quickly proven as Negan made his way towards the plane and there on the wall, the name and information of the plane and paint cans all along the wall. Simon and his group hadn't seen any of that before now, Negan noticed this when Simon seemed rather surprised that Derek had known that information without seeing any of the inside of the little building that covered most of the plane. 

“It says on this sheet a test fly was scheduled a few days after she dried but looks like that shit never happened. Look at you Mr. Pilot, all smart and shit. Looks like you weren't talking out your ass like I thought. Impressive. Keys are hanging up here on the wall and there's plenty of fuel for a small test flight and enough to take her to and from just about anywhere. This place is fucking loaded” 

Negan was quite pleased with this find. Simon really found something big this time and boy was it something of use. A plane would come in handy. With supplies running low all around them, and the other groups trying to rise against them, this could come in handy in quite a few ways, but an escape was not high on the list, at least not for Negan. No, he wanted to use this to gather supplies and maybe cause some more chaos elsewhere. 

Derek would step beside Negan and quickly take the keys, but not before Simon would grab his hand, a grin upon his face as he look from Derek to the plane. Sure he liked the guy but trust was a big issue for him and many in the group. No way he would let him be in that plane alone, even if he did have the slight thought of it either exploding or having some sort of problem, resulting in their death. 

“I'm going with you, I'll be your co-pilot I guess. Can't have you going up there alone. So let's get this over with” 

Simon would lower his hand from Derek's as he turned his attention to Negan. The two nodding to one another before Simon and Derek made their way towards the plane and hopping inside. Negan stood, curiously waiting to see what would happen. It started up instantly, no problem no strange sounds. Derek would give a thumbs up as they started heading out to the open strip to take off. 

So far so good, it seemed to be working as it should. Picking up speed and before Simon knew it they were up and off. The normal sounds and actions of a plane, nothing seemed to be going wrong. Enough fuel had been in there for a small test flight which was exactly what they needed. A good ten or fifteen minutes and the plane would make a turn and begin its slow return to the ground. Negan was pleased, as was Simon, a working plane and no problems to worry about it seemed. Now just what did Negan have in mind? 

The plane coming to a complete stop, Derek and Simon would hop out. Both pleased with how well the test flight had gone. A wide grin upon Negan's face as he stopped beside the plane, his right hand lightly tapping a part of it before he would speak up.

“Do you think this plane could fly to somewhere like the United Kingdom?” 

Simon and Derek hadn't expected such a question. Both looked to Negan and remained silent for a brief moment. Simon of course had no idea if this plane could fly that far, maybe with enough fuel, maybe they would have to refuel somewhere, he wasn't so sure, only Derek would know that answer and that was who Negan was waiting for to answer him. 

“This is a short haul regional plane, it could fly up to five or six hours. From where we are now it could take about seven hours if London directly, longer depending on where in the United Kingdom we land, we would need to do a refuel along the way, I believe we could do that if we land in New York which is almost two hours, and we refuel there and maybe we can make it to London, or just outside of there” 

It seemed with this information this flight would certainly be pushing the limits of this plane. Could they safely make it to London without a problem? That was something to highly consider. Fly there for what reason? A vacation? One would assume that, but in what condition was London? Were they overrun by zombies like the United States or were they safe from this? Where else had this outbreak spread? Was it worth the risk?

“Well boss, maybe we should think this over. We're the only ones who know of this planes existence, we can come back another time and fly out somewhere else before we decide a big choice like that, maybe it will be a good way to test out the plane better too, before we just do a big flight challenge like that” 

Simon would say out as he looked from Derek to Negan. A brow raised as Negan looked back. His right hand man had a good point. What he said made perfect sense, he couldn't argue with that. A nod would come from him as he looked Simon to the plane, looking it over before he would clear his throat to speak up.

“Sounds like a great fucking idea. We'll come back in a few days. Maybe that will give me enough time to figure out what we should do first, New York may be a good place to try out as to see if any problems do fucking happen with this plane, at least we would know. Good idea Simon. Let's get the fuck back. We have a long day” 

Each man would hop back into the van and head back to the sanctuary, Negan would sit quietly, thinking over of just what his next move would be, with the finding of this plane, the groups that were plotting against him, the fact that everything was coming harder and harder to come by, things were becoming scarce and it was a lot of work to keep everyone compliant and happy and maintain a group that can fight back against anyone who dares try to rise against them. There was indeed much to do.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece I came up with after discussing some idea's with a friend of mine who is a massive fan of BBC's Sherlock. So when imagining Sherlock as the reader the one you would be seeing in your head would be of Benedict Cumberbatch, and as Negan.. Jeffrey Dean Morgan of course. This fan fiction is going to be several chapters long so expect to see plenty more in the future!


End file.
